


Vocalise

by Ballades



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Smut, magic kink, sparklefingers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades/pseuds/Ballades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vocalise is an accompanied vocal exercise sung only on one syllable, often "ah".  Anders helps Hawke find her vocal range.  In bed.  Written April 2011 as a fill for the kmeme.  </p><p>Definitely NSFW!</p><p>All my thanks and all my love to Notaricon, my most fabulous beta of betas, without whom this would never have been possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vocalise

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: As we know, Anders spent time in the Circle and (as evidenced by party banter with Isabela) knows a few tricks that can be put to... extra-curricular use :P Mage!Hawke (male or female, I've no preference) on the other hand, hasn't, so while not inexperienced s/he has never thought about or considered using magic for bedroom purposes.
> 
> TL;DR Anders shows Mage!Hawke the added perks of being a mage.

When Anders is in a good mood, Hawke learns, he is in an exceptionally good mood.

They are at the Hanged Man for some reason or another, sitting in what is now Varric’s quarters. On the table in front of them are assorted cards, drink glasses, and several of Isabela’s knives. Anders sips at his drink – the spirit of Justice is a teetotaler, but Anders has admitted he can still feel the effects of alcohol – tosses jokes at Varric, and even smiles for Isabela.

As the time ticks by and the collection of empty mugs on the table grows, Hawke busies herself with the little things: the way she can slip her hand into Anders’ robes unnoticed, for example, or how quickly she can undo and redo the leather straps attached to the lower ring of his coat.

After a while, Anders leans over to whisper into her ear. Something about him has changed subtly; his usual gentility is fading, and the intense way he looks at her makes color rise in her cheeks. Hawke shivers as his breath caresses the soft skin just underneath her earlobe, shivers because Anders is saying _things_ to her, things like _we need to leave now_ and _I can’t focus on anything but you_. When she gives him a mock-scandalized look, Anders leans back in and describes to her in breathy, lurid detail what he has planned. _I want my mouth on every part of you_ precedes _I want you at my mercy_ , which is followed by _I will make you call my name over, and over, and over._

“Is that so?” she challenges him.

Hawke catches Isabela’s knowing, amused grin as Anders grabs her hand and fairly drags her out of the Hanged Man. As they exit, she hears Merrill’s voice in the background, asking naively where they are going. Fenris’ gusty sigh follows.

* * *

Maker help her, but he is a fantastic lover. By now Anders is familiar with her body and all its curves, but tonight he sets himself to memorizing every square inch of her. He plies her with his hands and lips, finding places to kiss he’s never kissed before, places that make her sigh out his name involuntarily. He pulls aside clothing, strips it from their bodies with a speed to make her marvel, follows every bit of her bared flesh with palms or lips or fingers. He looks at her, takes her in, and Hawke can see the desire in his eyes.

Anders extinguishes the fire in the fireplace with a sweeping gesture, plunging the room into darkness. It is a moonless, cloudy Kirkwall night, and in the close dark she feels the scope of her senses expanding. She hears the slide of skin on skin as Anders’ hands skim over more and more of her body, smells acutely his warm, inviting scent, tinged lightly with cinnamon and a certain sharpness that she can’t quite define. She tastes his need when he kisses her, and revels in the smooth, delightful feeling of his body against hers.

It is at this point, when every little brush of contact brings with it a delicious, thrilling flutter, that Hawke hears the quiet crackle of static, feels the hairs on her body stand. Her flesh prickles, and a faint blue glow illuminates Anders’ fingers. _Interesting_ , she thinks, curious, her mind working. _I wonder -_

And then Anders touches her.

Hawke’s body stiffens, and a sudden, loud cry escapes her. Maker, oh Maker, if she thought that being bereft of sight made her other senses stronger, this was ten times, a hundred times stronger. The whole of her body is electrified now, thrumming with his magic and his energy. She can’t help but moan as Anders’ mouth descends, first on her breasts, then lower to her stomach, and lower still to the juncture between her legs. She realizes belatedly that she has not stopped moaning, can’t stop moaning, and as Anders moves down she only moans louder, higher.

Anders touches his tongue to her, tastes her briefly, then pauses. “Say my name, love,” he commands her, and his voice has gone husky with his own lust. “Say it,” he repeats.

“Anders,” Hawke whimpers.

“Yes,” he hisses, and lowers his head to drink of her.

Hawke shudders as Anders’ tongue sweeps over her. She cries out again, and her fingers are somehow threaded through his hair, gripping his head, and her hips are pushing up towards his mouth. Long minutes tick by as Hawke holds on, blinded, small, choked sounds coming in time with the rhythmic strokes of his tongue. “Anders,” she ekes out, desperately, “Anders, please – ” Her voice catches in her throat, and she can’t seem to take a deep breath. 

Hawke is writhing now, body rolling helplessly from side to side; her hands scrabble for purchase on anything they can touch. She claws the sheets as Anders runs his tongue up the side of her clit; she arches, feet kicking uselessly as Anders laps at her, his tongue flicking out and over her sex. When he sucks on her, Hawke’s world shrinks down to him, to the connection of his mouth and the place between her wildly spread legs, the wet sounds of him pleasuring her, the feel of his hands underneath her, tilting her hips up so he can find a better angle with which to ravish her. “ _Anders,_ ” Hawke begs him, and she is close, so _close_ and yet so afraid of coming. She doesn’t want this to end; she doesn’t want this cresting wave to break, but keep building. 

But Anders has other plans. He changes rhythm now, tracing circles around her clit, and through the haze of her desire Hawke can hear Anders vocalizing against her. She herself is now incapable of forming words, not this close to climax. “Ah,” Hawke manages, and though she means to say _No, please don’t make me come yet_ nothing happens but long, breathy consonants that dissipate into the darkness. 

Hawke holds her breath as a last ditch effort to stave off her orgasm but Anders is relentless, now pushing his fingers into her, curling them up in a come-hither gesture. Hawke’s entire body grows taut for a second before she climaxes. She opens her mouth, but then her lips form a perfect o and she is over, her back arching so high that only her shoulderblades touch the bed. “Oh,” she begins, and then it’s followed with ohhh, then _ohhhhhhh_ , longer and longer vowels following. Hawke keens out her orgasm around Anders until she has no more breath, and yet he continues to play her, drawing more and more from her until she is one long twitching, undulating wave of pleasure. 

“Too much, too much,” Hawke attempts to say, winded, and for a moment she thinks Anders is going to comply. She begins to catch her breath. 

“Not enough,” he counters, and pushes his thumb against her clit. 

Hawke’s body jerks as another orgasm hits her, sending her into another round of shaking. Anders is watching her, a languid smile turning up the corners of his lips. He gives her a half-lidded look as he rubs the knuckle of his first finger across her too-sensitive nub, murmurs _yes, again, once more for me_ as she convulses, voice rising high, ending in a squeal. Anders gives her scant moments before he leans down, putting his mouth against her again, slipping his fingers into her again, and she comes fiercely, her body spasming. 

“We aren’t done yet, love,” Anders tells her as he emerges from between her legs. He pulls himself up her body and kisses her; Hawke can taste herself, smell herself on him; his chin is so wet. “You just get a small break.” Hawke stares at him blankly as she rides out the last eddies of her orgasms, not quite comprehending. Her fingers and toes are tingling, needling her. 

It takes a minute before Hawke can gather enough energy to ask, “There’s more?” 

Anders laughs at her. His hands are limned in blue, and they are tracing familiar patterns over her skin, leaving a curious, refreshing sensation of both hot and cold behind. Hawke can feel just how hard Anders is against her leg. “Silly girl,” he says. “Of course there’s more.” 

He kisses her languorously, repositions himself. 

The sound she makes when he enters her is like none she has ever made before, a strangled, cut off yelp that only serves to make Anders groan in response. She is slick, so slick, and Hawke feels him inside her as if he is a part of her, as if she has known this intimate joining all her life. Around them, electricity snaps and pops, and Hawke is lost, so completely lost in him that she doesn’t even hear herself calling his name. 

“Again,” Anders instructs her, but Hawke is too far gone to listen. Vaguely, she feels power forming. “ _Again,_ ” Anders orders. She feels a spike of lightning crack against her nipple. 

“Anders!” Hawke cries out, eyes snapping open in shock. Her muscles contract powerfully around him, and Hawke hears the sharpness of his breath drawn through teeth. 

Anders grips her hard, kisses her openmouthed, and drives himself impossibly deep into her. Hawke gasps, her hands reaching for anything, grabbing his back, his buttocks, his shoulders, fingers going white. For a short while he takes it slow, indulging himself in long, sensual strokes that rock her gently against the mattress. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the tassels of the drapes over the bed swaying in time to Anders’ hips. Hawke closes her eyes then, wraps her limbs around him and drives herself up against him, presses her breasts against his chest. 

Hawke hears Anders’ growl when he finally loses control. 

Anders wrenches his mouth away from hers as he begins thrusting faster. He croons his hot, short breaths into her ear, and somewhere in the midst of her pleasure she feels her release building, inevitable, unstoppable. Anders grits his teeth – she can feel the muscles of his jaw clench – and suddenly that moment arrives and he is over the precipice, panting, growling, filling her. Hawke follows suit, only really able to hold on, a high-pitched, urgent sound exploding from her as Anders continues, misty blue light in the corners of his eyes, static arcing over their skins. 

When it’s over, Hawke lies with Anders, still joined to him, and trembles with the aftermath. 

Finally, Anders extricates himself from her, and re-lights the fire. As the reddish light flickers back into life he looks at her, and Hawke can see that he is quite pleased. He gives her a short, sweet kiss. “Five,” he says. 

“Did I really...?” she says in response. “Five?” 

“Yes, my love,” Anders says, and with that he smiles at her warmly. “Next time, I’ll get more out of you. How about it?” 

Hawke doesn’t even let him finish his sentence before she agrees. 


End file.
